


Opportune Moments

by Vevici



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Funny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 17:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8541811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vevici/pseuds/Vevici
Summary: Three times Mahariel and Alistair were caught in the act of trying to have some alone time; and that one time they got their wish.The benefit of travelling with a Qunari, a golem, a witch of the Wilds, a senior circle mage, a dwarf, a former bard, a former Antivan Crow, and a mabari was that Mahariel had rarely stumbled out of a fight nursing fatal injuries. However, the problem was, each of them seemed to have bad timings. That or they were competing in who could make the other Grey Warden, who Mahariel also travelled with, combust in embarrassment.





	

**Author's Note:**

> From Dragon Age Writing Prompt@tumblr, requested by tumblr user sabraetrash.

The benefit of travelling with a Qunari, a golem, a witch of the Wilds, a senior circle mage, a dwarf, a former bard, a former Antivan Crow, and a mabari was that Mahariel had rarely stumbled out of a fight nursing fatal injuries. However, the problem was, each of them seemed to have bad timings. That or they were competing in who could make the other Grey Warden, who Mahariel also travelled with, combust in embarrassment.

             The dog was the worst of them, surprisingly. Lanaya’s clan prepared a feast that night, in memory of their former Keeper and in celebration of the werewolf curse being broken. Mahariel, Alistair, Zevran, and Anvil sat on the honored table in the midst of the Dalish. Zevran happily filled his plate with roasted boar, beans, peppers; and Anvil chewed on his boar cartilage with as much vigor. It was only Alistair who hesitated when Lanaya offered him the bowl of frog legs. A smile formed at the corners of Mahariel’s lips as his eyes darted from the dish to Mahariel, and back again.

             “I do not think there is more room in Alistair’s stomach, Keeper,” Mahariel said, eventually.

             “Right,” Alistair said. “I got too excited at the sight of proper food. The boar was especially irresistible.”

             Lanaya raised an eyebrow, but she smirked and offered the food to others instead.

             “I’ve offended her,” Alistair said, turning his body to hide his face from the elves.

             Mahariel had the full view of his reddening face, however, and her palm itched to cup his chin. “Amused, more like.”

             “Great, being the silly human is ten times better than being the bastard shemlen. Oh, wait.”

             Shaking her head, Mahariel slapped his side. While his jokes summoned laughter from her lips, she would rather not have him poke fun at himself. Mahariel craned her neck across the spread out tables and caught Lenaya’s eye. She bowed to the Keeper in a request, and the latter nodded with permission. Attention diverted from them, Mahariel took Alistair’s hand and slipped out of her stool. The uncertain protest died in Alistair’s mouth as Mahariel grinned at him over her shoulder.

             Much as Mahariel wanted to dive into the forest, she could not respond to her people’s relieved “thank you” with no less than a reassuring hand on their shoulder and her sincere wishes for them. After she had talked to those who called to her, she returned to Alistair who waited at the fringe of the gathered elves.

             “Now I’m jealous,” he said, arm hugging Mahariel’s waist. There was that twinkle of adoration in his eyes that hitched her breath.

             On her tiptoes, Mahariel pulled Alistair down for a kiss, eyes already half closed as she tasted his sigh.

             Then the warhound howled. The Wardens broke apart, hands snapping to their weapons, eyes jumping to the shadows. But there was only silence.

             “What-“ Alistair began as Anvil’s silhouette bounded across the camp toward them.

             Of course, all sixty-something pairs of glowing eyes followed the mabari’s trail, to where Mahariel and Alistair stood unpractically close for combat. As Anvil barked and wagged his tail in front of them, Alistair muttered “Maker,” turned around, and just walked out to their own camp.

             Mahariel held up a finger to Anvil. “What did I say about false alarms?”

             Anvil whined and dropped his head, to which Mahariel rolled her eyes. She patted the mabari’s head and sent him off back to his food.

             The Dalish, alert and restless after Anvil’s surprise, watched Mahariel for a cue. With a sigh, she strode back to the feast. Her people had enough worries without her disappearing into the forest.

                                                        

Days after leaving the Dalish camp with the promise of Dalish archers in their packs, Mahariel and her group caught up with the rest of Leliana’s party. They had camped by a stream which swelled into a river as it left the borders of the Brecilian forest. Mahariel, of course took this chance to wash off the blood and sweat that always clung to her now. She also took Alistair with her.

             “It’s too quiet here,” Alistair said, nose scrunched. “I feel like a Shriek would pop out behind me anytime soon.”

             Mahariel stretched her legs under water, brushing her toes against Alistair’s knee. “Grey Warden paranoia?”

             “Maybe. Or it could be those odd collection we’ve picked up along the way.” He wrapped a hand around Mahariel’s ankle and tugged.

             Mahariel let the current sweep her out of her seat, and drifted right into Alistair’s arms. She made a show of looking at the clear night, even as she straddled her love. “I’m sure there are no eyes watching us.”

             Alistair opened his mouth, only to have a gruff voice bark, “Shows what you know.”

             The hair on Mahariel’s nape bristled and a vein on Alistair’s temple popped. In a heartbeat, Alistair lowered Mahariel into the water, pushed her behind him, and looked over the boulder he had been leaning on.

             “What in the Maker’s name are you doing, Oghren?” He was almost yelling.

             A yell came back. “Whatd’ya think? I’m grooming my beard in peace when you sodders decided to get all slithery.”

             That took Alistair aback.

             Mahariel had to admit, there was too much in that sentence. Grooming and slithery, namely. “Are you almost done?”

             Oghren snorted. “Am now. The two of ‘ya are just getting started though.” His laugh scared the little birds out of their slumber.

             Water sloshed and gravel crunched as Oghren prepared to leave. Alistair kept his glare on him, his body firmly placed between the retreating dwarf and Mahariel. When he was sure that Oghren was gone, Alistair sank back into the water.

             “Paranoia, was it?” he said, eyebrows raised in a challenge.

             “We should probably dress as well.”

             Alistair thumped his head on the boulder and groaned.

                                                         

For a Grey Warden, life or death battles in the deep roads were like a market day for a cook. Minus the meters-deep holes in the ground decorated with spider webs.     Mahariel cast out a hand for her weapon and blessedly brushed her fingers on the hilt immediately. The torch spluttered on the dusty broken stonework of a foreign ancient dwarven passage. Mahariel limped to the light before it could die. No broken bones, as far as she examined. No way back the way they fell in either. She called out to the rest of her group only to have her voice bounce back to her. There really was no other way than forward.

             And so Mahariel picked her way on the indistinguishable rubble, her mind feeling for darkspawn. Nowhere near, thankfully. It took a few minutes for her to kick and dig more stones that covered half of the passageway she followed.  And it was only when she could fit her shoulders into the space she made that a gasp echoed from the other side.

             “Vie! It is you.”

             Mahariel peered into the hole and saw Alistair - hair light with dust and bleeding on one arm. “Are you alright?”

             He nodded. “As much as you are, anyway. Here, let me.”

             Mahariel moved back as her knight vanished behind the wall of rubble and bashed his shield against the weak spots Mahariel pointed out. He slammed with all his weight again and again until the rocks came loose and toppled to the ground in a dust cloud.

             Then Alistair was there, hands on her face, a chant on his lips. “Maker, I thought…”

             “I’m here, _vhen’an’ara_. I’m here.”

             “You Grey Wardens have an odd sense of 'romantic'.”

             Mahariel closed her eyes, head slumped on Alistair’s shoulder. “Hello, Sten,” she said.

             “Yes, hello Sten,” Alistair sighed.

             “We must find the others,” the big man said and vanished back to wherever crevice he had popped out from.

             He could have stayed there a little longer.

                                                          

In all the months that Mahariel ran from one corner of Ferelden to the next, she had never once considered abandoning the country and its people. Not until she woke up in her underclothes in some cell within the bowels Fort Drakon. Not until the supposed queen, Anora, suggested to start their partnership anew as if she had not just dangled her over a pack of wolves.

             Mahariel stormed down the hall, down the stairs, and veered left. She rapped on the door at the very end of the corridor. It opened a fraction, and once Alistair saw it was her, he threw the door open and pulled her into the room by the waist.

             Then her back was pressed against the door by Alistair’s weight. Mahariel’s hand searched for the bolt and locked it in place before they tangled in her love’s hair.

             “I’m here, Alistair. I’m alright.”

             Alistair scoffed against the crook of her neck, arms wounding tighter around her.

             “Realy, love. They could never lay a hand on me.”

             At that, Alistair pulled back with a smile, sharper than the ones he had given her before. “That’s my girl.”

             He carried her to his bed, teeth already teasing the skin on her neck.

             Mahariel sighed his name; relief, home, desire. She pulled at his hair, dipped her head, and bit his lower lip. Alistair groaned and the sound sent shivers between Mahariel’s legs. She laughed -low and airy- as he pinned her to the bed, hands sliding beneath her shirt.

             Creators have mercy on the fool who would knock on the door at that moment; the fire in Alistair’s eyes would instantly incinerate them. And Mahariel would do nothing to help them.


End file.
